Sylvia Plath Short Stories Novels & Stories

She shook her head and closed her eyes for a moment to try to put her thoughts in order as it began to rain outside her four walls. ‘I’m finally alone, but I can’t move to heal myself.’ Unfortunately, her short moment of reprieve got interrupted when Shote slammed the door open. The light from outside spilled onto her lifeless-looking body. “You dead, girl?” Sylvia groaned. “Don’t go writing me off as a corpse, old man,” she grumbled as she sat up. “If I die before you, I swear I’ll hunt ya.” “Talking back now, huh? Brats these days got no manners,” he said, scolding her, but he was grinning.

I made my way to his room, which was right beside the study, and walked in, searching as fast as I could for a key. I found a bunch of keys in his drawer and decided to try everything until one of them miraculously opened the freaking door. I tried the first key. Nothing. “Stupid key!” I muttered in annoyance and tried the second key, with the same results. There were about sixteen keys in this bunch and none of them were opening the damn door. I stared at the last key in my hand like it was my salvation. Then I pushed it in and turned the lock. Static. It still didn't work. I groaned in frustration and leaned against the door, ready to cry when the door pushed open and I fell in.

“What happens when the novelty wears out?” The silence that follows brings me to the brink of tears. No one moves, not even the gentle rise and fall of their chests against my skin. They didn’t think this through, right? Could it be that they still plan to dispose of me after this? Do they have other ulterior motives? Were they using me for their pleasure? When did I fall that low?

This sweet little puppy, this perfect doll, made some switch flip in my mind because now all I could almost see myself doing was fucking her, playing with her until I finally get to take her life away. Maybe it was the way she begged or the way the words slipped from her mouth so fast she couldn’t censor herself. Or maybe it was the quiet sobs and the big tears that were rocking her body. Or it was the fact that she was lying in front of me, restrained and naked, and her body was trembling as it waited for my touch.

Approval must be earned. I add a new line: Sees everything. Says nothing. Dangerous. Then I delete the whole document. Because I’m not studying him anymore. I’m learning him. And that’s not part of the plan. Sienna texts me: You okay? I stare at the phone. I type: No. Then I delete it. I type: I think I just met a man who’s not Ethan. I delete that too. Finally, I send: Meridian’s gonna crush. Sleep well.

Chapter 1 Sophie’s POV. I couldn’t fucking sleep, not with Mia snoring like a drunk log in the next room after she pounded those tequila shots like it was her last night on earth. The lake house felt too quiet, just the soft slap of water against the dock outside and the creak of old wood settling. My skin was hot and sticky under this tiny tank top that barely covered my tits, the thin panties riding up between my ass cheeks and sticking to my pussy because I kept thinking about stupid shit I shouldn’t be thinking about.

I sucked all three cocks at once, licking and stroking them until they came on my face and tongue. I rode them one by one while the others sucked my nipples and rubbed my clit. I came until I was crying from pleasure. In the quiet moments between rounds we talked more. They opened up about their lives. Lucas told me how lonely success had made him before he found Julian and Victor. Julian spoke about losing his family young and building everything himself. Victor admitted he had never found a woman who could handle all three of them until me. I told them about my fears of never being enough. They listened and held me tighter.

she said, but her voice shook a little even as she tried to laugh it off. “One of us has to be shoving it. Let’s make it prove something. Ask it something only we would know. Edgar, what’s my biggest secret?” The planchette paused for a second, hanging there, and then it started spelling out: L-I-N-A W-A-N-T-S T-O F-U-C-K H-E-R R-O-O-M-M-A-T-E-S. My heart slammed hard in my chest, heat flooding through me as the words sank in. What the hell?

There was one solitary, big book on a low table between them. "The title of the tale is The Binding of Autumn," he began, his voice an entrancing whisper just in harmony with the shriek of the fire. “It's the tale of a harvest god who offers a mortal woman a choice: one night of absolute freedom for one year of unimaginable riches for her people." He didn't move as his eyes met hers. "The consent is the matter at hand. It must be freely bestowed, not coerced, and whispered three times into the skin of his throat." “Do you have any idea what sort of story you're going to be reading me tonight?”

I am confused. "I took a deep breath and listened to the brag of my heart: I am, I am, I am. These are Sylvia Plath's words from the Bell Jar." Now it makes sense. Sylvia Plath is a good choice when her words speak your tired soul. "Meaning she thought she was having a phone call with Sylvia Plath?" I concluded. "She's completely mad." Alyssa fails to bite her tongue again.